


Tied Me Down to the Loverboy Blues

by hegemony



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Captivity, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Language Kink, M/M, Mindfuck, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Safewords, Sexual Roleplay, Verbal Humiliation, bottom!poe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7527742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegemony/pseuds/hegemony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what he loves about playing his position, about offering to be used, all it takes is a little nudge to get what someone’s dying to give you. </p><p>And Finn? Gods, Finn's a damn natural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tied Me Down to the Loverboy Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Be forewarned, this is straight up hardcore drawerfic filth that I've finally gotten around to cleaning up so I can actually put it out in the world. Mentions of Knifeplay, face slapping, and a few other more edgeplay-related practices around public sex. And yes, this is definitely titled from _Faith_ by George Michael. 
> 
> Several people touched this in some way or form, including when it was a part of a much bigger and more complicated romance, but it has gone through so many permutations that all mistakes are very much my own. Thank you to Stephanometra and drbrucebananer.

They’re safe right now, but Poe’s still pent up on adrenaline and reckless decisions. 

The archive wasn’t especially important enough to warrant its destruction becoming a 2 person job.

Poe just, y’know, got himself arrested first. And then Finn, apparent master tactician, decided to go rogue for a ‘save Commander Dameron and steal the work of First Order sympathizing academics’ one-two punch. It probably would have ended poorly if explosives weren’t involved.

Seeing as Finn blew up the A-wing Poe came in on while _also_ getting arrested, they have no choice but to go back to a shady cantina, back to a bartender that Finn swears was the informant for the resistance. So, they take a chance. It pays off, she secures them safe passage on a smuggler’s ship, as long as they keep their heads down and don’t get in the way of the crew on the way back toward D’qar.

So they’re here, in this small room, backs squished up against the walls of their bunk-cum-cell. 

“You’re bleeding,” Finn tells him. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says, and slides closer before leaning in and wiping a trickle of blood from a split lip Poe didn’t even realize he had. “You took a couple of good hits, man.” 

“Hey, I gave hell, too,” Poe watches Finn at the blood on his fingers, _Poe’s_ blood on his fingers. He watches as Finn lifts them to his mouth. 

It’s just stupid good looking right now. 

“I put up a good enough fight,” Poe continues, hears a few notes of pride and standoffishness in his own voice, “you saw.” 

“’Good enough’ gets people killed on an off day,” Finn sighs. “I could teach you some stuff now, but we don’t have the space for it.” 

“I’d rather suck your cock right now, anyway,” Poe says as casually as he can muster. “It’s a much more effective way to waste time than you think.”

“I don’t know if I like you considering the idea of sucking my cock as a way to waste time,” Finn says, his breath hitched on his smile.

“It’s not an insult, it’s just,” Poe’s suddenly tired and not very good at standard. He leans forward, stops short of taking Finn’s mouth with his own, “not like we have anything better to do.” 

“I suppose not,” Finn says, and closes the space between them. Kissing Finn’s like licking into the core of a fireball, all heat and spice and force in more ways than one. 

“I bet I could make it feel like you’re not wasting your time at all,” Poe breathes, and knows he’s about to make a fool out of himself. “I saw some rope outside.” 

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to find a way to ask you if you’d let me do that to you?” Finn points out, then stutters, “We don’t have to, if that’s not what you wan--” 

“You perfect man,” Poe says, smiling hard enough he can feel his wound tear open again, a punctuation. “ _Please_ tie me up.” 

“You’d trust me like that?” 

Poe smiles. “You just rescued me from a group of power hungry post-empire authoritarian terrorists in possession of enough information to kill you, me and everybody we know. _Again_. I trust that you’re capable of not breaking me in any way I don’t want to be broken.” 

Finn smiles at him, an amused little curl of his lips as they lean in and suck at the wound, drawing more blood to the surface. Poe moans. 

“How can I tie you up?” Finn says, his voice light like he’s pressing his luck.

Stars above, Poe thinks, what a beautiful question. His mind churns with arousal. 

“Put my hands behind my back,” he says. “I’ve been trained to slip knots, so anything I can’t reach will be awesome.” 

“Will it?” Finn presses. “Seems like it’ll be uncomfortable.” 

“It will,” Poe confirms, “and I don’t care.” 

“What else?” Finn says. “What else don’t you care about?” 

“Gonna make me say it?” Poe asks. 

“Uh-huh.”

A torrent of Vong comes to the top of his mind, and he tries to bite the turn of language back. Finn will respond better to standard, and Yavin jungle slang is decidedly not that.

“I want you,” he grits out, “to put me on my knees. I want you to use my mouth.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’ll be a good prisoner, best you ever had, I promise,” Poe nods, furiously. “I’ve been thinking about it since the cell.” 

“The best prisoner I’ve ever had, huh?” Finn asks. “You know that’s not the smartest thing to promise, coming from where I’m from. It means you give me what I want and then die a longsuffering death I will see as a reason why you had to die in the first place. Please ask me to stop before we even remotely get to that.”

“You know what I mean,” Poe says, quickly. “I want you to put me on my knees and I want you to wreck me and I won’t even fight you, that’s what I’m saying.” 

“Did I wreck you, before?” Finn asks, cleverly. 

It was a very close thing, before: Finn’s fingers holding him back as he begged, pleaded. Poe hoped he was good enough, hoped he wasn’t rambling about how he liked to be held down, choked, split open, slapped in the face with open palms. And then it all happened, a beautiful culmination of sensory information flowing from Finn’s hands like water, washing into every hollow crevice Poe had, reigniting him in ways he hadn’t felt since before Jakku, back when he used to go to Pava and L’olo and Lei-

In the end, even though he and Finn are not ‘like that’, they’re not ‘like’ anything—Poe still hoped that he’d earned the way Finn made him fall apart. He’s gotten demolished in their friendly spars, devastated by the things Finn tells him as a friend and confidante, late at night when they both can’t sleep, and Finn’s rewarded him for it, kind and sweet and absolutely ruthless when Poe needs him to be. 

“Poe, I _want_ ,” Finn’s voice sounds so earnest it makes Poe’s teeth ache, “I want to make sure this is enjoyable for you.” 

“It will be, I promise. You could just,” Poe knows he’s rambling, lets his voice hitch on a little groan, “use me if that turns you on. I want this and you can tell me I shouldn’t like it. You can call me all the worst names you can think of, but I want this and I’ll make it good for you, I promise.” 

“You promise,” Finn repeats, an aroused huff. “I should get the rope.” 

Poe leans in and puts his mouth on Finn’s one last time. 

“Yes,” Poe whispers against his lips, “you should.” 

Poe’s arms are wretched behind his back twenty minutes later- 

(“It’s not tight enough.” 

“What?”

“I need it tighter. Please?”

“I…” 

“Something, anything, please Finn.”)

\-- and Finn’s cinched him in at the elbows and tied his wrists together, unyielding knots that ratchet Poe’s adrenaline up even higher, smuggler’s rope dirty and rough against his skin. 

Finn’s arms wrap around him, hold him close. Finn’s head drops to rest on Poe’s shoulder, and he pushes his mouth against the collar of Poe’s shirt. 

Gods, he thinks as he exhales shakily, this is gonna lead to one helluva post sex crash, later. He’ll sleep like the dead.

The lights in the room are low now, low enough that Poe can barely make out the silhouette of the bunks in the corner, cast in rusted emergency red. If he had a free hand, he’d try to see in front of his face. 

The darkness is good, he thinks, it sets the mood. 

“Do you have a color?” Finn asks. 

“Green,” Poe replies, wiggles happily in Finn’s arms and moans when he gets nowhere. “So green.” 

“Good,” Finn whispers his ear. 

Poe can feel it, an anxious silence filling up the room. They’re trying to find something, the two of them, their breathing syncing up, their bodies moving together in stillness.

“Everything okay?” Poe asks, shakily. 

Finn’s arms are like snakes around him, slithering warmly against the trunk of his body, penning Poe inward. Like a doll, he thinks, like something inanimate to cuddle. The thought takes an interesting turn in Poe’s head, about how nice it would be to be made immobile like this more often, Finn’s first toy. 

“What are you thinking about?” Finn asks him. 

“About how happy I am that I get to have this again,” Poe says, lowly. “I thought it was going to be a one-off, last time.” 

“I thought so, too,” Finn muses. “Is this good? I don’t want to hurt you unless you ask me, and even then, you’ve already been hurt enough today. I’ll try to take my time, is that okay?” 

“More than okay,” Poe says. “I’m sure you’ll figure out what to do with me.” 

“What do you want me to do with you?”

Poe’s mouth wraps around the words for ‘use me’ but his voice doesn’t follow through. 

“Focus me,” Poe chokes out. “Focus me onto you. Settle me down.” 

One of his hands migrates lower, lower, and Poe can feel his desire combine into a knot in his stomach. 

“Please,” Poe sighs. “I need-“

“You need to learn some discipline,” Finn notes, lazily. “You shouldn’t surrender so easily.” 

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Poe tries to turn on the charm. “I didn’t get to where I am by _surrendering_ , you know.” 

“I’m serious,” Finn says, lightly. “You don’t have to make it this hard on yourself.”

“Maybe I just trust you,” Poe says carefully. “Maybe I feel out of control and I think you can help. Maybe I think you’ll make it fun.” 

“Thank you,” Finn says, and Poe knows he means that, “but I worry about your idea of fun if you like being humiliated this much.” 

Poe’s mind grasps for words, and they come off softer than he wants them to, “I like being vulnerable.” 

“Have you ever been more vulnerable than this, Dameron?” Finn asks him, voice falling just short of admonishing. “On this somewhat friendly ship with morally suspicious men in very hostile territory with your arms bound behind your back and a promise that you’ll do anything I tell you to?” 

“So what?” Poe replies, his smart mouth making it worse for himself. “I like being reckless, too. You know this about me.” 

“I know,” Finn replies. “You’ve told me before.” 

“Because I’m serious about it,” Poe bickers, but he stops as Finn’s fingers caress down Poe’s folded leg, reaches for the bow knife at Poe’s ankle. 

Poe’s had to use it a few times before, cut himself out of harnesses and parachutes in both the Resistance and the Republic air forces. He keeps it clean, and sharp, knows the weight of it in his hand. 

He hasn’t killed with it, yet. Only a little maiming on a bad day when someone refuses to give him what Leia has asked him to obtain. 

The knife comes out, a snick and slide from its holster. Oh, and this could fall so quickly into real torture, inescapable, deep, down in the recesses of him that have been hurt time and time again as he spews out name, rank, serial number. 

It gleams in the low red light. It looks like it’s been splattered in blood. And Finn brings up just enough to—

“Orange,” Poe says. 

Finn places the knife down in front of them. It looks like dulled gunmetal from the angle Poe can see it.

“What do you need? What’s wrong?” Finn asks, because of course he cares. His hand reaches down to push into Poe’s grip, “are these too tight, are you okay?” 

He can’t detach into the fantasy world that allows him to take pleasure from Finn using that tool on him. 

“I’m fine,” Poe says, softly, and captures Finn’s hand for a second, gives it a little squeeze. “Just don’t take me there. Not right now, okay?” 

He can’t see Finn’s face very well, but he can lean backwards to rest his head on Finn’s shoulder. 

“Okay,” Finn says, hands reaching back around the trunk of Poe’s body. Suddenly, Poe’s back to the warmth of being inanimate and cuddled, and shielded even as he keeps his eyes on the knife sat down next to the two of them. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” Poe says, thinly, “I want you.” 

“I just don’t want to kark things up too much, y’know,” Finn says, a gentle crack in the façade he’s plastered over himself. 

“You won’t,” Poe’s breath hitches. 

One of Finn’s hands reaches to angle Poe’s mouth just right, so they can kiss, so Poe can slide his tongue against Finn’s lips. And they kiss, and kiss, Poe’s whole body aching to get back toward Finn’s mouth. And it’s good, the ache that curls throughout every moment, courses through spots on his body that are tight and warm. Finn’s got one arm anchored across Poe’s chest, and the other reaches down to caress Poe’s thigh.

“Can I touch you?” Finn asks. 

“Yes,” Poe gasps against his mouth, and Finn reaches down and massages him through his pants, a warm wide hand that used to be a fist now capable of teasing like it was designed for that instead. 

When Poe can feel his hips straining into Finn’s hand, he hears Finn ask, “can I expose you?”

“Yes, please,” Poe says lightly, and kisses him again, leaning in like it’s all he has. Finn smiles on his lips, drawing his fingers into the pants Poe’s wearing. 

His other hand comes in, folding back the requisite layers to expose Poe’s aching hard cock to cool, stale air.

“Remind me what you really want,” Finn says, his hand working long and sweet and drawn out with nasty little twists right under the crown of Poe’s cock. 

“I wanna suck you off,” Poe sounds a little haggard and his voice snaps into a snarl. “Is this how troopers have sex, huh? Fuck each other’s minds cause you can’t fuck their bodies? Is that what this is? That what you _do_?” 

“If that’s what _you_ want, Commander,” Finn says primly. “I could keep you just like this for the rest of the flight back. See how long you could take it, all that talk about being reckless. But the thing is…”

Poe lifts his hips to thrust against Finn’s hand. This is finally getting good, aggressive and fierce and like they have an understanding, the way they do in the ring, the way they do in the bunks. 

“There’s always got to be a caveat with you,” Poe says. 

“This is a serious one, Dameron,” Finn replies. “Pay attention.” 

Finn’s hands reposition Poe’s thighs and knees so he has nothing to grind against, splits him wide down the middle. The knife is in reach, still, the illusion of an easy out if Poe just dislocated a shoulder and broke a wrist. 

Gods, he’s set on making Poe hard enough to pound nails. 

“Stay like that for a minute,” Finn says, not quite an order as he gets to his feet, and Poe can’t see or feel where he is anymore but he can see his own cock, dark tanned skin flush from arousal and denial and embarrassment. 

“Wh-what’s the thing?” He asks again, hopeful in the dark.

Finn circles him, staying quiet, and the artificial engine hum fills the space with a droning white noise Poe can’t escape. Desire is curling in his stomach, adrenaline filing into his bloodstream, and he tries to remind himself that he trusts the man who put him into this position, trusts that man so much he’s put his life in Finn’s hands more times than he’d bother to count. 

“The problem is,” Finn continues as he steps into the space where Poe’s legs are split apart and places each foot on the inside of Poe’s knees, feet casually spreading him a little wider apart. The muscles in Poe’s hips burn, the stretch of him a delicious fire that lights up his spine. It becomes clearer now; getting him hard wasn’t just a loving courtesy but another layer of sensation to single-minded allegiance, focus. 

“Yeah?” Poe asks, as he leans in and runs his mouth, gently, against the tactical black fabric covering Finn’s crotch. He’s silent about it, just this side of needy. Finn’s just hard enough to strain against the front of his pants, and Poe can practically taste the heat, looking up at him like he’s done all of this before. “What’s wrong?” 

Finn exhales uncomfortably, his fingers tracing the knit hat that’s been on Poe’s head for most of the mission. It slips off, and Poe leans back on his heels, licks his lips in the dim light and looks up at him again.

“We don’t have to,” Poe says calmly. “It’ll be okay if we don’t. I just thought--” 

“I know,” Finn nods, as he undoes the front of his pants, lifts his cock out. It’s hard, deep brown skin that Poe’s so ready for, wants in his mouth right now. “I want it too, but…” 

Poe moves to lean in again, tease Finn even more, drive him wild, but a hand slides into his sweat slicked hair and pulls him away. 

Finn’s voice drops octaves, “when I take that mouth I’m not so sure I’ll want to give it back.” 

Poe shivers, and for a moment he’s speechless. His blood fizzles with adrenaline, wondering how the hell Finn’s so _good_ at this, if he’s a quick study or has always had it within him. Poe tries to lean in again, take even just the head of Finn’s cock into his mouth, but for every action there’s an equal and opposite and Finn pulls him back with ease, the sharp tug more than enough to make Poe moan. 

“C’mon,” he wiggles down on his feet. “Do something!” 

Finn’s hand comes down, and Poe steels himself for a slap but it’s softer than that, fingers molding gently against the curve of his stubbled jaw, a thumb that catches against his lip. Poe tries to bite at it, suck it into his mouth. 

Finn laughs, open and throaty and aroused, “you don’t know what the word ‘prisoner’ means, do you?” 

“I just want to make you feel good,” he counters as Finn’s thumb recedes. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel last time.” 

And then his mouth is full of Finn’s fingers, something to suck. He yields, and his posture improves as he arches his back and opens his mouth wide, no need to stop the ongoing probe. 

“You don’t think seeing you trust me like this makes me feel good, hmm?” Finn says, his voice full of awe. “Is this okay? What’s your color?”

The skin of Poe’s lips burn as they get stretched, adding to the numbness in his arms and tightened shoulders, but after Finn’s appropriately excavated him, it feels like it’s time for the main event.

Poe looks up, after. His lips are already sloppy wet, and he doesn’t know where to put his tongue. “Green.” 

Finn’s silent, and he slides the tip of his cock into the cavern of Poe’s open mouth, a different kind of invasion, a different sense of impending doom. He swings his hips, hitting Poe’s cheek and his teeth and his soft palate and throat. 

Poe groans and loses control of his reflexes. The room fills up with the sound of wet gagging. 

How appealing. 

“Still like this?” he asks Poe. “Still think you can be a good little prisoner?” 

Poe wants to tease, smile back and say something smart but then Finn lines him up and pushes inward, until Poe’s mouth is full, until he’s caught off guard and choking. It’s a powerless, _arousing_ moment until Finn pulls him away, leaves him heaving and Poe can feel his entire body responding, eager to please and be pleased.

And then there’s nothing, and he feels empty as he leans forward against Finn’s hold on him and tries to catch his breath. 

“Can you make this last for me? Can you let me know if I’m doing okay? I like knowing I’m doing okay, alright?” 

“You’re rambling,” Finn looks at him as if he finds the request insulting. “What’s your color?” 

“Still green, buddy. You don’t have to ask so much.” 

“Then I haven’t even started yet,” Finn says with a sense of finality, and suddenly Poe’s mouth is full again, thoroughly stretched out and debauched and very, very used. “Oh, yes. You are doing very well for yourself like this, Dameron.” 

Poe doesn’t feel like it, moaning and whimpering and god, the groaning and wet choking that fills the room is entirely from this situation that he’s put himself in, of his own design. He groans with Finn’s gorgeous long and thick cock down his throat, his body leaning up in pitiful offering. He catches Finn looking down at him, pushes himself deeper until he starts to shake through his whole body. And he wants it, the overwhelming rush of helplessness and dread. It’s not about him that way.

And then Finn’s backing away, just a half step. He’s got his hands down in Poe’s hair and he’s _pulling_ Poe off his fucking cock. Poe moans, and he’s spitting up between breaths now, his mouth sopping wet.

Finn brings his spit-slick cock back down against Poe’s mouth, doesn’t push inward. Instead, he rolls his hips just so, ends up humping against Poe’s face, softly. Finn moans. 

Poe knows what’s being said, here, that Finn can do whatever he likes while Poe’s in this position, for as long as he likes until he chooses to take pity on Poe. 

“What do people usually call you when you do this with them?” Finn asks, and sounds so young and curious Poe doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“A whore,” he breathes. “Or maybe a slut.” 

“So they make you feel guilty for wanting this?” 

“I want them to,” Poe says, and knows what’s coming next. “I want you to, as well.” 

“Ask me for what you want again,” Finn notes. “I’m not really all that sure.” 

“Just, let me suck you off, okay? I really want your cock in my mouth,” Poe insists. “Please, c’mon.” 

“Hmm,” Finn sounds unconvinced, and Poe has a thought that in this position he could easily just be a platform to rut against, imagines Finn denying him what he’s asking for and instead, riding against him until he’s coming against Poe’s hair, dripping into his scalp. 

“Please, let me suck your cock,” Poe rambles. “I get it, okay, I get that my mouth’s not good enough for you but please, I want you so bad, I want to make you feel great, you deserve that. Let me suck your cock.”

“I usually wouldn’t take triple-dealing resistance scum at his word, no matter how modest and humble that scum’s being right now,” Finn says, gently. “Want my advice? I’d think about exactly where you are, right now. Think about exactly _what_ you are.” 

“Gods,” Poe moans underneath him. 

“Let’s see if you can ask me for what we both know you really want.” 

Fuck, Finn’s good at this. And that knife, just out of reach, makes accidental sense, out of Poe’s possession because he’s now entirely trapped in this position, on his knees being forced to beg, thoroughly demeaned. 

Poe gets pulled even further backward, his body arched against his elbows and he’s scrambling for equilibrium, this way, fingers spidering out behind him to search for the floor even though he knows Finn wouldn’t let him fall. 

“Well if you’re not going to do it,” Finn needles, and uses his free hand to stroke himself impatiently. 

“Fuck me,” Poe chokes out. “Please, sir, fuck my mouth, fuck my throat. Please, I won’t-“ 

And then Finn’s pushing in, invading, forcing the yield in every inch of Poe’s mouth, filling up his throat, making space for himself. 

And then Poe’s world goes dark for a few moments, his head bobbing, his focus on surviving this without exploding from how hot this is, how tight the knots are, how he genuinely cannot escape, how he has to rely on his experience to keep from freaking out as he chokes. Finn fucks him slow, skilled hips thrusting up and back and pushing down into Poe’s throat like some hidden pleasure center’s right there, moaning low and hot every time Poe takes him deep. 

Poe tries to divert attention, spreads his legs wider, pumps his hips a little to feel the weight of his erection as its somehow even gotten harder. He tries to root himself on the smell of Finn’s skin, salty with sweat and hormones. He tries to focus on the texture of Finn’s pubic hair as it brushes against his nose. He tries to look good, hungry and desperate down on his knees because he asked to be put there. 

Instead, he’s a sobbing mess with recovering-stormtrooper cock down his throat because he fucking _asked for it_. 

“You like this too much,” Finn notes, pulls him off and holds him back. “You have a natural talent. You spoil me, you’re so good. Gonna want this all the time.” 

He knows he’s transparent in his happiness, willingness to suffocate under the weight of this. “You don’t have to be so gentle. Fuck my throat, don’t hold back.”

“I didn’t need your permission,” Finn says, gently. “It’s my throat right now, and I’ll do whatever I like with it. You understand that, Dameron?”

“I want you to make me choke so hard my eyes water,” Poe gasps. 

Finn smiles down at that, “where do you go to, when I use you like this?” 

Poe loses his grip on Standard, descends headlong into Massassi vowels spilling from his too-wet mouth like blood, ‘gods, I want you to own me’. 

“You say the sweetest things when you think I can’t hear them,” Finn replies, and shoves back in, finally giving his movements a sense of rhythm. “You know that?”  
Poe tries to stay relaxed, but this is _fucking_ , in all its raw filth and passion, he thinks. His eyes are cresting over with tears, and he’s trying so hard to keep his hands from balling into fists. 

This is what he loves about playing his position, about offering to be used, all it takes is a little nudge to get what someone’s dying to give you. 

“Next time,” Finn growls, pulling Poe back, denying him the pleasure of feeling the pressure mount, “I’ll make sure you’re naked. I’ll make sure you’re full up with something to keep you occupied. I’ll make sure you mean what you’re saying even if I don’t know the words, I swear it.” 

Poe’s heaving for air and hungry to be taken again, goading with his eyes and words and mouth, ‘you’re too good--’ It’s only a moment until he’s filled up again, until Finn is pushing through his voice and oh, _yes_. 

“I’m sorry,” Finn says, gently. “Were you trying to say something?” 

It’s no matter, because Finn takes him quick and brutal, holding his head steady. And then it’s three last shoves, sealing the gap, pushing Poe’s body, and then he’s coming, a pulsation that Poe still doesn’t have any claim to knowing the taste of after all this time. 

Poe’s voice is far more thin and strained as Finn pulls him away for the last time. ‘Please make me come’ and ‘I don’t know what else I can give you right now’ and ‘I’ll try anything that will please you, I swear.’ 

“You’re bleeding again,” Finn muses as he tucks himself back into his pants and crouches down to eye level. “And you want to come, no doubt.” 

He bites his lip and tastes the blood for himself, processes it along with the pins and needles in his trapped arms, the tightness in his trapped shoulders. He tries to wrap his mouth around words again.  
“So,” Finn says, lazily, “what’s your color?” 

“Green,” he says without hesitation, the word rising hoarsely through the broken haze of native tongues…and gods, he wants with every part of him down on this cold floor. He leans out, reaches for Finn’s mouth, brushing against Finn’s lips and groaning against him, desperate for the contact, body aching for the pleasure. His hips rise and fall, intoxicated by the weight of his cock, the hard nipples brushing against the inside of his shirt.

“The thing is,” Finn smiles, “you told me I could use you. Like a droid, or maybe a whore.” 

Finn very carefully avoids Poe’s cock as he slides his hands up Poe’s sides, under Poe’s shirt, warm skin against skin. 

Poe moans and makes fists with his bound together hands, tries hard to stay cool. Finn slides two fingers into the mess at the base of Poe’s mouth, and Poe will admit that he leans down and takes them greedily, tongue flicking. 

“ _Definitely_ a whore,” Finn muses. He pulls his fingers out of Poe’s mouth, brings them down teasingly against the hot flesh of Poe’s cock. Poe’s head rolls back in the triangle of his strained shoulders, his eyes roll back in his head. His hips start arching into the drying texture of Finn’s touch and maker, it’s not enough. “I don’t know a lot about whores, they don’t teach you much about that in the programme, but I do know they negotiate for basic things. Like the ability to come. Something, Commander, you didn’t bother doing.” 

Finn’s mouth comes down against Poe’s bare neck, laying wet kisses adoringly slow. His fingers reaching to caress Poe’s back, his body showing his clear, open affection while his words…

“It makes me a bit sad that you didn’t bother to negotiate, you know that?” Finn says, mildly, “Makes me want to make it very hard for you to enjoy yourself when you’re coming. Makes me want to make sure you learn.” 

Finn’s hand reaches up into Poe’s hair and pulls hard enough that Poe’s pretty sure he’s being possessed. 

‘Oh yes, please teach me,’ comes out of Poe’s mouth in a torrent so melodic he might as well be singing. ‘I want that so badly, I want you so badly.’ 

“Standard, buddy,” Finn suggests conversationally. Poe snorts, looks at him with eyes no doubt so fucking transparent that he’s ready to just say—

“You can ‘teach’ me anything you want,” he manages, and oh, there’s that jagged edge between flirting and blatant desperation, thirst. 

And that’s how Poe ends up face down on the bed, his pants wrestled free and his shoes taken off, his underwear shoved into his mouth as a makeshift gag. Finn splits him down the middle and puts his tongue right _there_ , swirls around gently, lovingly, achingly slow, as if he’s expecting to eat Poe’s ass out for days. 

Poe tries to rock his hips back and forth, grind against the bed as Finn’s tongue does its magic.

“You know this is not supposed to be easy, yeah?” Finn asks him, and takes Poe’s hips in each of his hands, using all the strength he can to hold Poe immobile. And then, even better, he flips the two of them over in a sickening churn that leaves Poe feeling truly helpless, landing on top of Finn’s mouth, looking at the dark outline of the door.

And just like that, all of a sudden the only thing that’s worth thinking about is Finn’s mouth as it licks back and forth against him, coaxing Poe’s body open, slickly probing at the skin. 

“Could you keep an eye on the door? I didn’t lock it,” Finn admits, gently, and oh that’s a fresh stab of adrenaline surging through Poe, eyes fixed on the slight crack that leads to the light of the hallway. 

Anybody could see them like this, anybody could see _him_ like this, grinding against Finn’s face and thoroughly tamed, hair curled wildly at the ends with sweat, and resistance issued briefs hanging from his mouth after he’d begged Finn to keep it full for him.

The gossip alone would be stunning, and Poe imagines the taunts the galaxy would deliver. It doesn’t matter they’re at the end of a dead hallway, it doesn’t matter. 

It’s all Poe can do but take what Finn’s giving him, knowing it’s going to be forever before Finn makes him come. But it’s at the base of his spine, need eating away at the core of him and then all of a sudden Finn’s tongue slips inside him, a kiss that leads to Poe’s head thrown back and screaming, his toes curling in the hold. His entire body is a captured state of arousal, restrained by not just the Smuggler’s rope and Finn’s hands, but the sparks of pleasure skittering all over him as he rides on Finn’s tongue. He wants to beg, wants to be pushed even further and deeper but all he has right now is this predicament to wrestle himself free from the impossible and have it wrack his body, muscles clenching and locking. 

Oh gods, he’s _close_. 

And he’s rising on his toes and he’s reaching for Finn’s hair and he knows he’s got to be whimpering by now, voicing his pleasure even if he can’t make the words anymore. 

The mouth moves away, taking Finn’s tongue with it. Poe screws his eyes shut, can’t tell if he’s sweating or crying with the arousal and knows if anyone even had remote curiosity they could still walk in and see this, every inch of Poe a mindless, rutting bundle of flesh. 

And then he’s getting pushed down into the bunk, legs split open and ass in the air, and Finn’s sliding fingers into him, callused by blasters and control sticks and hilts of daggers and knives. The cotton falls from Poe’s mouth, and he’s helpless to do anything but rut and sob. 

“Hey, you know you were right,” Finn says, and sounds far away. “Gave me exactly what I wanted and now enduring a very longsuffering ending, because that’s what you’re made for. You’re a very good prisoner, Dameron. Let’s see you get rewarded for that.” 

And then his fingers are shoving straight through Poe, a wet thick pressure pushed deep against his center, grazing his prostate, pushing the orgasm out of him. 

And he throws his head back to scream and finds Finn’s open palm waiting for him, waiting to dive into his hair and wretch his entire body back. Poe’s pushing himself, now, the itch of pleasure counterbalancing the pain shooting through his body and he’s riding Finn’s hand and it hurts to come and gods, gods, _gods_. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finn’s sitting in the corner of Poe’s bunk where it meets the wall, legs tucked up under him like he’s meditating. The lights are up, slightly, but not bright enough to disturb Poe during a crash that felt like a spiritually nourishing descent into blissful nothingness instead of just a post-sex nap. 

“Hey,” Poe says, softly. Even with all the water Finn made him drink before, he still sounds hoarse to his own ears.

“Hey,” Finn replies, and pushes the refilled canteen of water into his hand, “have a good nap?” 

“Yeah,” Poe nods. He sits up, blissfully naked, pulls the covers back and comes to sit by Finn before pulling the covers back over him. “What are you up to?” 

Finn’s rigged a tablet to the small drive they had stolen from the archives before blowing up the archives. “Looking at places that could have been home.” 

Poe puts his head on Finn’s shoulder, surprised when Finn lets him without jumping. One of Finn’s hands traces the still-fresh impression of the rope on Poe’s upper arm, a notched appraisal.

Poe smiles at the pressure, as the sensation smarts through him, “I hope you find what you need, I wish I could give it to you.”

“It’s not like that. I don’t need it like that,” Finn says quietly, very much to Poe. “I’m just exploring.”

Poe pushes a hand through his hair and thinks of what he’s been planning for Finn when they get back to D’qar. Finn’s hand is fascinated with the imprints left behind from the rope, idly committing the feel of Poe’s contorted skin to memory. 

“Yeah,” Poe says, and tries to keep the affection out of his voice. “Let’s explore some more.”


End file.
